Portents and Forebodings
by Demonic Weasel
Summary: Thornwood's stability always meant everything in West Parmecia. With Sir Mortred's disappearance, it may mean much less than that.
1. Chapter 1

Portents and Forebodings

Portents and Forebodings

Mephisto smiled at the corpse, well satisfied with his day's work. As always though, grimmer thoughts returned and his ease deserted him. At least this much was done; he had been prepared for a fight, but he had not expected the lizardman to be quite so skillful.

He paused for a moment, wiping the sweat from his brow. It had been a good battle, he decided, as he squatted down by the body, rifling through the contents of his dead foe's armor. Within short order he found what he was looking for; King Drake's warrant for his death. Mephisto smiled contemptuously. Did that old man seriously believe that a mere mercenary would be enough to kill _him_?

He glanced over his shoulder at the gaunt figure of Mortred, appreciating the irony. Mephisto had successfully stolen King Drake's finest knight, and still, still the old man sent hired killers after him. If Mephisto had not been quite so tired of being the butt of the god's irony, he would have appreciated the point more.

Still, despite the confidence that everyone had placed in Mortred, the premier knight of Thornwood had not been difficult to sway. His pride had been all Mephisto needed, and once lured to the Labyrinth… Nobody returned from the Labyrinth unchanged. Mephisto returned his eye to the warrant, scanning it critically. Yes, as he had suspected, it would seem that all of Drake's most valued advisors had affixed their seals to this document. He snorted in derision. That was just as well, he supposed.

If there was one thing that Mephisto had learned in his life, then that was never to assume that all one knew was all that there was to know. And so he continued rummaging about the lizardman's corpse. For a mercenary, this one was proving decidedly un-interesting. Mephisto had hoped that this one might, perhaps, have another contract on him. If nothing else, it would be news of some other part of the world. Disappointed, he sat back, his hands brushing out of the traveling pouch.

As he did so, he heard a distinct rustling sound. Trembling with excitement, he jerked forward again, tearing at the seams this time. His hands were unusually clumsy, but at last, he succeeded in tearing the pouch apart. This time, Mephisto was rewarded by a letter falling out of the bag and into his hands. He eagerly scanned the paper, and then forced himself to slow down, reading it more thoroughly. Then he read it again. The more he read, the more the letter interested him.

_My dear_ _Palsis, _

_I rather hope that you won't judge this mess in Barrand too harshly—I've spoken with General Rogan several times and he seems to be a reasonable man. Nonetheless, Benetram sees this as a chance to further amiable relations with Destonia, and a date for the peace conference has been set. Governor-General Garvin has even agreed to host it; I ask you, have you ever heard of anything less likely? In any event, the conference makes a convenient pretext. As all Aspia knows, Conrad cannot possibly come, his health is simply too bad to permit it. Benetram has already put Dantares in his stead, and you know as well as I, that Dantares will bring Synbios with him. After thinking this over, I've decided that this really isn't such a terrible thing, in fact, it may be rather important. So, all in all, I was rather hoping that you might take Synbios under your wing, keep an eye on him, that sort of thing. That's all to your satisfaction, I hope? Oh, and perhaps you can find some use for Gila here. Don't worry, I've specially entrusted this letter to him. The weather here is dreadfully inclement, and my hand seems to be playing me up, so just allow me to say, best hopes for the future. Incidentally, should you see Brutus, give him my regards. _

_Tybalt _

Gila? Mephisto glanced down at his slain enemy. Doubtless, that was what the letter was referring to. For the rest of it… Well, it was very interesting. Suppose that this Gila had betrayed his former master and run of with the letter, hoping to sell it to the highest bidder? Or perhaps he had some unfinished business here in the west, and just hadn't gotten around to delivering it yet. Mephisto sincerely hoped that it was the latter. While he couldn't honestly profess to know any of these people, Mephisto was hardly stupid. He had obviously stumbled upon something rather large; the letter had many words in it, but it said remarkably little. That meant that he had surely stumbled upon something or other. And if he was, in some way, interrupting important communications…

_Do you see me now, Mother_, he wondered. _Do you see how I've accomplished what you could only ever dream of?_

It had been years since Mephisto had thought of his mother at all, let alone with any warmth, yet now, he recalled her with a tinge of sardonic pride. For Mephisto, the worst place in the world was his own memory. In the early days, it hadn't been so bad, but even then, Mishalea rarely conveyed any warmth to him. Still he had studied hard, and risen far. That had been before the bad times though. Before Warderer.

How he had hated his mother's whimsical apprentice! It hadn't been enough for Mishalea that he was suitable, no, she had to have a perfect heir. He could still hear her judgmental words echoing off of his ears.

_Too slow,_ she might say, or perhaps, _too weak. _But worst of all was, _not as good as Warderer._

Still, much as he had hated that rather frivolous rival, he was, in a way, grateful to Warderer now. Thanks to Warderer, he had realized that his mother had only ever hoped to use him. It still made him angry. At the time, however, he had waited, and, when he thought he was ready, he had challenged her for his birthright. Unfortunately, at the time, he had underestimated Mishalea. Or perhaps, he acknowledged, in his pride he had overestimated himself.

Be all that as it may, he had never forgiven her, and so he had sought refuge in Thornwood. For a few years, he had peace and he mastered a great deal more of basic sorcery under Xern's teachings before his mother found him. She had nearly ripped Thornwood apart, but, ironically enough, Warderer had stopped her. The then King of Iom had made some rather clumsy overtures of friendship to Mephisto as well, but Mephisto was done being used. The only satisfaction he took from that last encounter with Warderer was seeing how all of the joy had gone out of him. Mephisto didn't know how or why and he honestly didn't care. All he knew was that Warderer and his mother had become enemies somehow, rather than friends, let alone mentor and apprentice. To make certain that his mother couldn't try anything else, he had run to the Labyrinth. Xern had tried to stop him then but…

_He gave me no choice,_ Mephisto thought resentfully. _He was just trying to use me too; I had to kill him._

It was positively appalling that his successes now were allowing him to linger on such maudlin memories. Seeing that he was, however, Mephisto allowed himself to take a certain malicious satisfaction out of this moment compared to his mother's failures. The last he'd heard of Mishalea, she was trying to bring a region under the sway of darkness by manipulating outright war.

_There are more subtle ways, Mother, such as the one that I've found. Aye, and if this letter's important enough, I may be influencing two countries before I'm done. And all you can resort to is outright war._

Absently tapping his cheek, Mephisto realized that he was done with Gila. Rising ponderously, he beckoned at Mortred. The knight's gaunt face showed no emotion. "I think that it's time we returned our friend here to Thornwood. You know what to do."

--

"Well and good," declared Vyrun. "I would shudder to think of bestowing one of our ancient titles upon an unworthy mercenary."

Theos squinted his rheumy eyes at the pudgy young baron. Though Vyrun himself must be well over 40 by now, Theos had never stopped thinking of him as a young man. "You employed Gila yourself, Baron," he pointed out.

Though it was difficult to be certain with his failing eye-sight, it seemed to Theos that Vyrun flushed. "At the urging of the king, yes, I brought that one in. I did not and I do not approve of this course, but I am as true as any man to a royal command."

"Oh yes," said Theos absently. "How is he?"

"Gila?"

"Oh. No, my apologies Baron. I don't know where my wits are half the time anymore. The king."

"His Grace is… His Grace is most… concerned. I mean, naturally so. With Sir Mortred's disappearance around the Labyrinth."

"If only Xern was still alive. He would have known what to do. He made that place his life study, you know. Ah yes, and I remember the little children playing in the gardens… and the birds. One must never neglect the birds you know."

Thornwood's castle had been a happy place once, Theos remembered. These days it seemed as though a dark cloud hung perpetually over everything. King Drake, though three years younger than Theos seemed ten years the older now. Still, it had been very sad when Crown Prince Felix had died, and so suddenly. Doubtless, that had taken its toll on the king though it had been several years now, to be sure. There seemed to be something else though… something not quite… not quite right at Castle Thornwood anymore. Theos had taken to putting his gloomy thoughts down to his own old age; he was approaching 77 in just a few days. And it was hard to see such a happy place become older, greyer… Still there was something that didn't seem quite right. If only he could remember…

"Lord Theos." The old man blinked, startled out of his reverie by Baron Vyrun's insistent tone.

"Hmmm?" He realized belatedly that the Baron was holding a document before him. He took it, and tried to read the lines, but the words all just ran together. Too embarrassed to ask it to be read, Theos pretended to study the document.

Vyrun finally said, "The king wants your seal on that."

"Mine? Why?"

Vyrun scowled sullenly. "King Drake did not see fit to inform me of that."

"Ah, you were always a bully as a child," said Theos, slipping into reminiscence. "Your lord father despaired of you at times."

Vyrun purpled. "I resent that."

The sight of Vyrun's lack of grace brought the memories strongly back to Theos then. He laughed delightedly, "Yes, that's it exactly." He could remember now; Vyrun had been such a serious little boy, and always in trouble. He had lacked charm as a child, and had rarely been able to earn easy forgiveness for his pranks. Theos sighed, "I remember, you never seemed to love the birds as well as you should. That was a grievous shame." Those had been good days, Theos decided, when he was still young and vigorous enough to join the children at their play. All he could do anymore was to watch them, fondly, when King Drake had no need of him.

Vyrun's face tightened, but he said nothing. The Baron's face was, alas, not a happy one. The muscles were all clenched and his mouth was made for bad-tempered grimacing or curtly-worded commands. He had rarely smiled and was never known to have laughed. He had been a sly child as well, Theos recalled, and he had grown into a slightly displeasing man. And bald as well, at such a young age…

"Oh, I'm sorry," he apologized. "That was rather tactless of me wasn't it? I do so beg you pardon Baron, it's merely an old man's wandering mind… Yes, I no longer follow thought as I once could. Were we speaking of the birds?"

A hearty voice boomed out, "Ah, gentlemen. Might I join you?" Theos turned, blinking owlishly at the rapidly approaching figure. Sir Tristain carried himself well for such an old knight, though he was younger than Theos to be sure.

"Sir Tristain. We were just speaking of the birds you know." The old man sighed sadly. "I often regret that I was not as attentive to the birds as I could be."

Baron Vyrun said with his customary bluntness, "We were having the larger discussion of Sir Mortred's disappearance. I suppose that will be a burden to you, friends as you were."

"It's true," conceded Tristain. "Mortred's disappearance is a concern to us all." Tristain always looked strong and splendid. Today he had donned his traditional gold-plated armor, and though his increasing age was much in evidence, he had lost none of his grandeur, nor any of his strength. Stroking his chin he murmured, "When it comes to that, gentlemen, I have wondered. I would not have taken Sir Mortred for a suicidal type and I cannot believe that he was kidnapped or that he would shirk his duties…"

"He disappeared near the Labyrinth." Vyrun was too curt, as he always was. "Spelled, I should say."

"There is always that possibility." Tristain tugged at his moustache, looking dissatisfied. "I was wondering if, perhaps, Mortred seemed different in any way? Concerned or something?"

"Perhaps he was a little tired." Vyrun sounded as though he grudged every word.

Theos sighed sadly. "Sir Mortred did seem weighed down I fear, his broad shoulders a little heavier than they usually appeared, but as such a strong man bearing so many burdens, was this not the most natural of things?" He shook his head. "I fear that I must blame myself. If I had only acted on my instinct… Mortred was too young to be feeling so tired."

"Sir Mortred has a son who is evidently old enough to have been knighted," said Vyrun acidly. "I hardly consider that to make him young."

"Ah yes," murmured Tristain. "As regards that, I wondered if perhaps Sir Hiro might not be permitted a hand in the investigations. His own father after all…"

Vyrun had purpled at the suggestion. "Tristain," he blustered, "are you implying that you cannot trust me? His Grace put me in charge of these affairs!"

"Not at all," replied Tristain, unperturbed. "Rather I was thinking of the lad. Whatever ill chance has befallen Mortred, young Hiro deserves the chance to avenge his father, don't you agree?"

As Vyrun sputtered for a reply, Theos decided that it was not Tristain. He had wondered, if perhaps his sense of gloom was by any measure a reflection of a person at the court, but even if that was so… Tristain was the same as he had always been. Strong, courteous and thoughtful. Really, Tristain was very impressive for such an old knight. Theos realized that his thoughts were wandering again.

"All I ask, Baron, is that you think on it."

"To be sure," Vyrun relented with bad grace. "Aye. As you say, sir."

Tugging at his moustache again, Tristain turned to Theos. "In that case, I wonder if we might return to the subject of Mortred. I wonder, did he only seem weary to you, Lord Theos?"

Vyrun muttered, "We have been over this," but Tristain paid the interruption no mind.

Theos thought out loud, "Hmm, yes as best I recall he did speak to me shortly before his disappearance. The day before? Or two days?" He sighed, "I really cannot recall… but he did seem a trifle wearied, yes." Had it been Mortred, he wondered? Had that been where his sense of unease had originated? But no, that wasn't right. Theos had felt like this before Mortred's disappearance. Perhaps not as strongly though… He shook his head in vexation. He was merely an old man, and his mind was prone to maudlin wanderings. "I do remember that Mortred asked for a book, that day. I don't know if that's what you're looking for, Sir Tristain."

Vyrun abruptly seemed to run out of patience. "If you gentlemen will excuse me," he announced, "I fear that I have some rather pressing concerns to attend to." He turned smartly on his heel, his colorful tunic swishing, and then he paused. He said in a grudging tone, "And you will see to that document, Lord Theos?"

"Hmm?"

"Oh, for the gods," muttered the Baron, and he stamped off; his customary scowl much in evidence.

Theos frowned and then it came to him. The document that the Baron had given him of course. He looked to his enormous pockets with a slight sense of guilt. Really, it was too bad that the Baron had been so irritated…

"Lord Theos." Tristain's voice broke gently in upon his thoughts. He peered up at the knight. "Do you, perchance, recall what book Sir Mortred was interested in?"

Theos puckered his lips in remembrance. "Not entirely," he confessed. "I remember being surprised as Sir Mortred was not the studious kind of man." Even as he said that, it started to come back to him. "But yes… it was rather a dry and dusty genealogical volume. Karth's, perhaps?"

Tristain tugged at his moustache. "If you do recall, I should like to see the book, my lord."

Theos bobbed his head immediately. "To be sure, to be sure. I shall see to it immediately, Sir Tristain. If the particulars do not come to me, doubtless the stewards shall know."

Tristain smiled. "My thanks. I fear that I too have other concerns, my lord." With that, he stepped off, again tugging at his moustache.

Theos stood there, watching him for a moment, and then he too turned away, hobbling off as best he could. His back had gotten very bad in the last year; he could no longer go anywhere without being bent far over. As he hobbled his way towards the audience chambers, he paused briefly at a window, peering down at the castle grounds.

They had been happy grounds once, when there had been many children playing, howling, shrieking… Now they were nearly empty, save for those men of Baron Vyrun's that were not searching for Sir Mortred. Theos panted a little, placing his hand against the stone wall, trying to catch his breath.

Nothing could make a man feel old quite so much as memory and Theos had so many. The only person still living in Thornwood who was older than Theos was Old Vyk of the old tavern… and Vyk was not near as feeble as Theos had become.

_Useless. _

That was what life had made of him. It seemed only yesterday that he had been strong, vigorous, young… and now he was old, useless. Shaking his head, he started forward again. That was what was meant in the appointment of Leonard as the new minister.

He was capable enough for the post, certainly, but Leonard was obviously being groomed to eventually replace Theos. The tragedy of that wasn't that Theos's time was passing; that was natural enough, after all. No, the true tragedy was how solemn Leonard was, how sober and dutiful. With the new mood of sadness dominating the castle, Thornwood needed cheer and laughter, yet Leonard would never be able to provide that. It should be so, he decided, but Theos had become far too feeble to do much and Leonard was replacing him.

_Because I have grown old. _

Theos resolutely hobbled into the polished audience chamber. King Drake was slumped in his throne, a goblet half-full of wine near his right hand. Leonard was there as well, standing by the throne as was his duty. The newly appointed minister raised his voice slightly to announce, "Lord Theos, Your Grace."

At that, King Drake stirred slightly. "Ah, Theos," he mumbled. "Good, good. Is there any news of Mortred?"

"I fear not, Your Grace."

The news seemed to deflate the king. "No?" He slumped further into his throne. "Hmm." He fumbled for his goblet for a moment, found it, raised it to his lips, and drank deeply. "Come join me, Theos. Have a cup of wine. Baron Vyrun gifted it to me." He patted the bottle on the table happily.

"Might we first open the curtains, Your Grace?"

Though the throne was the highest spot in the room, King Drake was huddled in shadows. "No." He seemed perturbed by the idea. "No, no, no, no, no. Come and join me Theos, as you used to. Let there be no more nonsense about the windows."

He bobbed his head in subservience. "As Your Grace commands."

"Commands," complained the king whilst a servant pulled up a chair for Theos. "Yes, that's right. I'm the king, yet no one heeds me commands. I told them to find Mortred, but did they? And my son too, I told them to heal Felix, but they didn't. Bah." He spat a glob of phlegm onto the polished floor.

Theos frowned, as he sat. He could see Drake more clearly now, and the king's appearance was not encouraging. He was quite an old man now, to be sure, but he had been so strong in his prime… Huddled in the shadows of his massive throne, the broad shoulders were slack, the eyes guileless, the face exhausted, the beard stained. It was as though all of Drake's once considerable strength and energy had just left him.

The change was very nearly alarming. Theos blamed himself for it; the signs had been there to read after Prince Felix's sudden death… but Theos had not heeded them at the time. It seemed clear that Drake's grief over that still affected the king deeply.

"Why are you staring at me like that? Have some wine, the king commands." He waved a magnanimous hand, and immediately, a glass was produced. Theos smiled in resignation as the servant quietly poured the drink. Drake continued amiably, "You know, rather convenient your birthday coming up. It is, isn't it? Gives me that excuse I needed. I'll be staging a feast then, but you'll have known of that, now won't you? Well, what do you have to say, eh? Eh?"

Taking a small sip, Theos said, "A great honor to be sure. I had, however, hoped to discuss the current unrest, Your Grace…"

"Discuss? What is there to discuss?"

"Surely you know, Your Grace. Parmecia is near to going up in flames, and war rages openly in Grans."

"War has always raged openly in Grans," sulked the king. "And anyway, what of it? Parmecia's not turned itself to a funeral pyre, has it?"

"These are our allies that you dismiss, Your Grace."

"Allies? What allies? None of them could be bothered to come to Felix's funeral, now could they? An insult to my way of thinking. All they gave me was condolences, but I _wanted_ respect."

"There has been great unrest in all of the kingdoms, recently, Your Grace," Theos reminded him. "Aspinia and Destonia are on the brink of another border war, and there has been recent fighting in the south. Do we not have a duty to our neighbors?"

"Now you sound like Tristain," Drake complained. "Baron Vyrun thinks differently of these so-called developments."

Theos had heard the Baron's views before and he had no wish to hear them again. "Baron Vyrun is a young man, Your Grace. And his views are… unthinkable, on this matter."

"I suffer your advice; I am entitled to Vyrun's counsel as well. I don't see why you're saying all these things anyway, Theos. They are hardly a concern of Thornwood's."

"Your Grace, you cannot hope to maintain respect if you continue on that course."

"Enough. I will not suffer your rebukes, d'you hear me? I'm the king of Thornwood, not you." He sulkily drank from his goblet. "There are no kingdoms in the west outside of Bedoe. By rights, our rule should extend there, but will those fools listen to me?"

"You might win them over were you seen defending Parmecia as a whole. Or perhaps you could offer Princess Jessa to one of them…"

At that, Drake's fist slammed hard against the arm of his throne. "Silence! I will not hear you telling me to bend my knee to them." His face reddened as he continued, "Nor will I suffer you telling me to sell my daughter!" He took a deep breath and then a deep gulp of wine. As fast as that, his mood seemed to shift from anger back to pensive sulkiness. "If you're just going to regale me with such wisdom, then go." He flicked two fingers in the direction of the door. "Better yet, stay, but only if you intend to enjoy my wine and cheese and stop all discussion of this nonsense. Odegan was the only kingdom worth its salt and Odegan is gone."

Theos struggled upright with difficulty. "Aye, Your Grace. Thank you for your time." He turned then, hobbling out of the room, though he could feel his old friend's eyes burning into his back.

Theos simply couldn't understand it. King Drake had never been a stupid man, but his current course reeked of nothing but folly. Ah, but then grief could do great damage to even the strongest of minds, and his old friend had never been as emotionally strong as he might have. Drake had been the fourth son of old King James, and he had often been lonely.

Poor lonesome Drake, his only son suddenly dead three years past… The illness had come upon Prince Felix a sudden storm and the healers had been helpless to save him. Had Xern still lived at that time, doubtless the wizard would have known what to do, but Xern's bones had been cold in his grave.

Still, that single historical encounter of Thornwood's with the true strength of the darkness had taught Theos that such enemies must always be resisted. It had been he who had suggested that Mephisto could have been behind the current crisis, for indeed, who better? This time it would not have been his mother, but Mephisto was a dangerous man in his own right, and he had not been killed the first time he had caused trouble for Thornwood. He had made that suggestion, how many days ago? And even then, King Drake had seemed so much more stable…

Panting with exertion, Theos managed to lift the heavy bar locking the door to his chambers. He hobbled painfully inside, and immediately collapsed in the chair at his desk. The old man sighed sadly. Castle Thornwood had become a sad place, when once it had been such a happy one… Truly, the disappointments of life were hard to bear. But those who could still find something to love would always be able to bear it. Theos still had the birds, at least. And his memories…

His personal steward came rushing into the room just a moment later. Grak was a tall dark man with a heavily accented voice. He had served Theos for years with unfailing respect and loyalty. "Master," he said in his liquid tones, "my pardons. I did not hear you come in. Is there anything you require?"

Theos considered the question seriously. "Perhaps you could prepare a sleeping draft," he decided. "I believe that I should indeed sleep… after a few other things of course." He rummaged around in his pockets, looking for Baron Vyrun's paper. It wasn't there.

He blinked owlishly, trying to hide his concern. "Grak, have I dropped a paper anywhere?"

"I could not say Master. Shall I look for one or would you rather that I prepare your drink immediately?"

"Oh, I don't know," he muttered in distress, peering at the stack of papers on his desk, awaiting his approval. Once he might have signed them all without a second thought, but King Drake's judgment had become so poor…

_That does not matter. These are before then. _

"Oh yes," he said suddenly, as Grak stood, awaiting instruction. "Do you have that book that Sir Mortred asked for?"

"Master Karth's _Lineage_? Yes, indeed, Master. Shall I bring it to you?"

"No, no, no. For Sir Tristain. If you would."

"Of course Master. And the sleeping draft?"

"After."

"Very good Master." With that, Grak moved gracefully out of the room. Panting a little again, Theos quickly picked up his seal; ready to deal with a few of the papers. Unlike other officials, Theos had always kept his seal carefully hidden. To anyone who looked at the desk, they would not see it, because he kept it as the base of a little marble statuette. A bit silly, perhaps, but Theos had learned caution early in life.

He shook his head sadly. Whatever the cause, truly, Castle Thornwood had changed.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Hiro squinted along the edge of the bow, carefully moving his aim a touch to the left. Arms trembling with exertion, he still stopped to taste the wind. Southerly, if he was any judge. Finally, he released his grip on the bow-string, eagerly following the line of the arrow.

As the arrow thudded into the target, a slow smile spread across Hiro's face. It had been an excellent shot, only slightly off-center. A smattering of applause began then, and Hiro turned to the onlookers, shaking hands. As he approached the undeniably elegant knight, Lupo, the beastman feigned a yawn.

"Very nice, I'm sure." Hiro ignored the deliberately dry tone and shouldered his way past Lupo. As a new knight and a frequenter of Old Vyk's, he was, of course, acquainted with Lupo, but he had never cared overmuch for the snide beastman. Unfortunately, he was not to be freed from Lupo's company quite that easily.

With his long legs, the beastman had no trouble keeping pace with Hiro's stride. "I must say that I'm somewhat surprised. I would have thought you'd be interested in your father's disappearance."

Several retorts came to mind, but Hiro resolved to keep silent. There was no point in dignifying Lupo's comments. Lupo went on easily, "But then, I suppose Baron Vyrun hasn't authorized you for anything, and we all jump at the good Baron's command."

Pressing his lips together, Hiro stalked into the tavern. Vyk looked up, "Har, har," he chuckled. "That was a good shot lad, or so they tell me. Drink on the house!"

Hiro nodded happily and seated himself, a foaming mug of beer quickly in his hand. Another of the regulars, Gatt by name, swung around barking drunken laughter. "Hah! Good shot? I'll show you a good shot you miserable…" he hiccupped and seemed at a loss to finish his sentence.

Hiro also ignored that. Gatt was a foolish, bitter person, and there had never been any point in talking to him. There was even less point now that Baron Vyrun had fired him for some small matter of theft. If Gatt had been a bitter idiot before, he was even worse now. Instead he focused on the beer. Vyk really did brew an amazing recipe, the liquid was so yeasty and thick, he felt he could almost chew it.

Just as he closed his eyes happily, determined to sink into the joys of his drink and the successful shot, a voice said, "Ah, Hiro. I had feared that I would find you here."

His eyes snapped open, and he grinned at his approaching friend. "Feared?" Milo Brax took a seat next to Hiro, his countenance grave. Milo was a young man training to become a priest with a thick face, heavy eyebrows, and a hefty build. Despite all of that, he always, somehow, managed to convey a sense of being a rather spare presence. In many ways, it was an unsettling effect.

"It is the duty of every true knight to serve his devotions above all," Milo said, rather sententiously. "And with your own tragic circumstances, Hiro, I would have imagined that you would be in need of prayer."

Lupo chuckled. "You sound as though we're in need of conversion."

"An occupational hazard," Milo admitted blandly. He turned back to Hiro, sitting up very straight, very neatly arranged. It was a trick of his, that finicky appearance. "But yes, where should I find you but in the tavern, wallowing in beer?"

Vyk muttered under his breath, "Don't see why you have to come and try to run me out of business."

Unperturbed, Milo held up a hand. "On the contrary, it is the duty of priests to lend comfort to the righteous. Forgive my thoughtless use of words."

"Milo," said Hiro irritably, "either buy a drink or drop it."

Milo studied Hiro for a moment, and then chuckled ruefully, signaling Vyk for a drink. He said lightly, "I am surprised at you, Hiro. Why aren't you more concerned about this? Your own father, after all…"

"Milo," asked Hiro pointedly, "have you ever tried to convince Baron Vyrun to do something for you?" He didn't wait for an answer, hurrying on, nearly relieved to have an outlet for his self-justification. "Besides, you make it sound as though I'm doing something bad here. Father's in my thoughts. Of course he is, but what can I do about it? All I've done is to continue bettering myself, and you presume to chastise me for it."

"Better yourself," Gatt suddenly bellowed. "Better yourself! You're a pup! A nobody. A nothing and nothing's all you'll ever be."

Hiro stood up slowly. "Go home, Gatt. You're drunk."

Gatt lurched to his feet in turn, and stumped over to Hiro, his liquor laden breath hot on Hiro's face. "I mighta been laid off," he breathed, "but I'm twice the man you ever was. Or your father or anyone!"

Hiro lunged at him immediately, and he scored a quick hit on Gatt's left eye with his mug of beer. Hissing in anger, Gatt reared backwards seizing his own mug and accidentally striking Gnorn who was behind him, an old drunkard.

Gnorn's companion, a gnome named Tack, launched to his feet smacking Gatt hard, bellowing, "Leave Gnorn alone!"

In less than another moment a general brawl had broken out. Hiro ignored the chaos around him, focusing all of his anger on Gatt, lunging forward again and successfully scissoring down at the beastman's legs. Gatt fell with a muffled grunt as Hiro immediately launched himself forward and began thwacking him.

He heard the sounds around him, clunking wood, harsh cried, breaking glass, but none of it really touched him. Even as he struck a satisfying blow in Gatt's face, he felt a burst of heat travel past him, and then a hand clapped itself on his shoulder. Reacting instantly, the young knight swung around, his fist sailing for a blow… Milo threw his drink in Hiro's face.

Sputtering for a moment, Hiro lurched to his feet, feeling the pounding blood in his head. For the first time, he really took in the scene. The room was a mess of overturned tables, and now that he thought on it, there was a smell of charred wood upon the air…

Even as he registered the fact, Old Vyk came rushing out from behind the counter, protectively huddling some bottles against his chest. "Get this wild arsonist outta here!"

"Wild arsonist," screeched Pyra. "WILD ARSONIST?!" Pyra Mist stood tall, thin and bony, her face alive with anger. The elven mage was one of Hiro's oldest friends, and, he admitted privately to himself, his feelings might go quite a bit further than that. Still, it seemed to be the right moment to step in, before Pyra was at the old man's throat.

Adopting as urbane an air as he could manage at short notice and in his disheveled state he sidled over. "I'm sorry old boy; I rather suppose this is all my fault…"

Neither one took much notice of him. "You should be on your knees thanking me," Pyra squawked angrily. "I just broke up that little fight you had on your hands!"

"GET OUT," bellowed Vyk angrily, booting her toward the door. Hiro stepped up, an injured expression on his face. Vyk turned to him, and then the old man's expression fell. "Aw… aw, don't do that. I mean…" absently polishing one of the bottles against his robes, Vyk finally muttered, "Mortred was my friend but you can't… you can't do things like that, Hiro. You just can't. Gatt isn't worth getting upset about anyway."

Hiro hesitated for a moment, and then he felt Milo's heavy hand clapping itself on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he offered quietly. "I think I'll go now." With that, Hiro turned and swept out of the pub, though his shoulders were still rigid with rage. He _was_ sorry for Vyk's sake, but nonetheless he was not going to apologize for his actions. He didn't deserve to be spoken to like that from Gatt or anyone, he, a knight anointed! And he would not suffer any insult to his father, the premier knight of Thornwood.

"That," said Milo, easily keeping pace with him, "is exactly the sort of thing that I was talking about. It does you no good to choose to reflect on being a knight, drinking ale and pinching serving girls' butts when you're just angry that Baron Vyrun has not authorized you to search for your father."

Hiro heaved an irritated sigh. "First of all, Milo, whether or not I pinch serving girls' butts has nothing to do with my father. Second, if you're going to try to insult me, you should come up with something better than that. And last, you talk like an educated clergyman."

"I am an educated clergyman."

"No," Hiro corrected, a touch of maliciousness in his voice. "You're a jumped up member of the peasantry who's become an educated clergyman."

Milo opened his mouth, perhaps to retort, but, more likely to deliver some boring moralistic sermon, when the sound of running feet arrested both of their attention. Lupo had caught up to them and Pyra as well.

"That was entertaining," the beastman said. "I doubt that Gatt has had a headache this bad in years."

"Hiro! Why walk out like that? You don't have to take stuff like that from Vyk! He's a creep anyway."

Milo chose this moment to launch his revenge. "Hiro was distracted by the comparative morality of pinching serving girls' butts. A thoughtless oversight, and somewhat my fault, I'm afraid." He managed to keep an absolutely straight face and a perfectly grave tone.

Pyra playfully shoved Hiro's shoulder, "You can pinch my butt!"

As Hiro stumbled to side he heaved, "This is juvenile." He might have said more, but at that moment, he tripped heavily across something or other. He started to stagger to his feet, but then he froze, staring at the obstacle that had tripped him. The others had fallen silent as well.

Hiro was half lying and half crouching on the lifeless body of a lizardman.

Lupo breathed, "That's the mercenary Baron Vyrun hired."

Hiro scrambled back to his feet, shuddering in slight distaste. In another moment the gravity of the situation sank in. He started running, shouting over his shoulder, "The king must be informed. Milo! Go get the priest, investigate the body, find out whatever you can. Lupo, you're with me, your voice might carry some weight, you knew him slightly. Pyra! Guard the body."

Without another word, he concentrated on running to the castle. In about fifteen minutes, besides panting with weariness, he had reaching the gates. He continued forward for approximately seven seconds before grinding to a halt. The gate was closed. He sputtered at it in for a moment, in tired indignation, but then an officious voice sounded above his head.

"Halt right there. What business have you with the Castle?"

"What business," Hiro repeated incredulously. "What business? You clot, I live here! I pass in and out every day!"

"Now, now," said the guard. "I'm not about to open the gate to the first charlatan who comes along."

Hiro groaned. The only good of this was that he couldn't detect the slightest trace of smugness in the soldier's voice, so he obviously wasn't doing this for his own gratification. Improvising rapidly, Hiro shouted, "The gate is never closed. I'm suspicious of you, friend."

The guard replied with maddening complacency, "Well it is now. There's been an emergency declared in the Castle."

Lupo's dry voice abruptly sounded, "Elgon you dolt, the lad's with me. Let us pass; we have important words for His Grace."

The guard, Elgon, gaped uncertainly. "Sir Lupo?" There was an open note of hesitation in his voice. "I don't know…"

Another guard, by this point, had made his way to Elgon's post. Hiro recognized him immediately; one of Baron Vyrun's men, a gelfling named Dai. Not a bad sort for all of that, however.

"Dai," he started to shout, but the gelfling cut him off immediately.

"Let them in, Elgon."

As the gate swung open, Hiro shouted, "What's going on anyway? Why all of these measures?"

Dai looked surprised. "You mean you didn't know? There's been an assassination attempt on His Grace."

--

"Treachery," bellowed King Drake, slamming his fist against the arm of his throne. "Vile, Parmecian treason! And you still think we should deign to call them friend, Theos?"

Theos panted, pitifully out of breath. It had been a matter of luck that he had been on hand for this event at all. Had he not been hobbling by the Throne Room at the time…

Vyrun in the meanwhile was ordering curtly, "Take this dog's body and go." He gestured imperiously at the slain assassin before continuing, "Does this not prove my point, Your Grace? A Parmecian assassin!"

Regaining his breath, Theos said sharply, "Gentlemen! We are all of us Parmecians!" Abruptly, his strength seemed to leave him. With a groan he sank to the floor. Leonard moved immediately, his grave stoic face troubled, drawing up a chair for Theos.

The old man sputtered, "All of us, Parmecians. I should hope you have not forgotten that, Baron."

Vyrun purpled. "This charade has gone on long enough! The only one wearing a false beard here is you, Theos. You didn't object to the document you were commanded to draw up yesterday!"

Theos frowned. "What are you talking about, Baron? I don't have…" he stopped. "This is not good," he muttered to himself. Baron Vyrun's paper never had turned up, but what in Rune could have happened to it? "This is nonsense," he said loudly. "Baron, you are not a stupid man. These problems will not go away if we simply ignore them! Even if that man was an assassin…"

'"Even if,"' Vyrun repeated a dull flush creeping up his neck. "You doubt that there was an assassination attempt? Backsliding into a little senility, eh?"

Theos replied coldly, his mind absolutely clear for the first time in days, "He was apprehended and killed remarkably easily for being an assassin."

"Enough of this," bellowed Vyrun. "You are the one jumping from one course to another!"

King Drake's face had a sullen closed cast to it. He complained to no one in particular, "What am I to make of this? He says one thing and Theos another."

Vyrun said loudly, "This is all meaningless anyway, Your Grace. In light of this… shocking occurrence, I urge you in the strongest possible terms to reconsider my proposal. Those barbarians in the west must either be brought to heel or…" he hesitated for a long moment, "Or we must close our borders."

King Drake looked rather uncertain. "Perhaps," he muttered. "It may solve a lot of problems…"

Theos gasped loudly. To even see that look of calculation about his friend's face on such a subject… He said hoarsely, "No, Your Grace… you must not… to do so would be, unthinkable. Evil."

"Must not," roared the king. "You dare say must not? To _me_?" Trembling with obvious rage, Drake rose to his feet, pointing a shaky finger at the doorway. "Out, Theos. I've had my fill of this! Out!"

Theos gaped at his old friend. Strongly then the image rose in his memory of poor lonesome old Drake, grieving for his dead son… "No," he whispered, not even aware that he'd said it aloud. He could see it all too clearly, his poor lonely friend doing everything he could to try and prove himself… Still, he persisted, "This is not the course of wisdom, Your Grace! The key to this matter should be Sir Mortred, not"

Vyrun cut him off with a snort. "And what is your brilliant suggestion Lord Theos? You would have us fearing our own shadows with all of your nonsense about a dead sorcerer."

Theos replied with some heat, "Mephisto did not die the first time he interfered in Thornwood's affairs! And he too vanished near the Labyrinth!"

"That place is very old. Doubtless it houses things that could have killed him." Vyrun's eyes gleamed as he said this.

"I tell you, Mortred is the key to this whole affair. He _was_ concerned before his disappearance, I'm certain of it. And he was looking into some matter or other."

"If that is the case, why did you not bring it up before now?" As Theos drew breath for a retort, Vyrun suggested blandly, "But then I hear that these little slips are not uncommon in the elderly."

Drake's fist struck his throne again. "Theos, Vyrun! Enough of this unseemly wrangling!"

"My pardons, Your Grace," said Theos. "I fear that the import of this affair has put us all on edge. And, might I ask what you have done with Sir Tristain if this affair really hangs on our security?"

"Tristain could not be found." Vyrun folded his arms looking not quite contented.

At that very moment, there was sound of running feet and the door to the chambers flew open with a resounding crash. In through the door stalked a blonde-haired young man, Sir Hiro.

"Murder," roared Hiro! "Your Grace, I bring you grave tidings from the town."

"Keep a civil tongue in your head, lad," snapped Vyrun. "And say what you have to say in a seemly fashion. Doubtless you were not brought up entirely bereft of courtesy, an"

The king raised his hand. "Vyrun, hold." The Baron broke off, obviously seething. The king beckoned Hiro to come closer. "Tell all you have and tell it true. It is a great crime to lie to a king," he added, just a touch sententiously.

For the first time a flicker of his appearance seemed to cross Hiro's face. Doubtless he was only just realizing what he must look like to them, disheveled and sweating. Theos felt a surge of sympathy for the young knight, but he held his silence.

"Your Grace, on the outskirts of town I discovered the body of the mercenary that Baron Vyrun had employed to search for my father."

There was a long awkward silence at that point. Finally, Theos sighed, "This changes things considerably."

Vyrun snapped, "This changes nothing."

"It proves that there is something, or, more likely, someone actively sabotaging our investigations into Mortred's disappearance! Say what you will, Baron, this confirms that there is an unfriendly intelligence actively working against us."

Vyrun sputtered for a moment before shooting back, "The Labyrinth is a dangerous place. Gila could have met his end by any number of perfectly natural explanations."

"Yes, as naturally as Mortred disappeared. And even if he was just slaughtered by a monster, _then what is his body doing on the outskirts of our town_?"

"Very well, Theos, but even so, this is an internal affair, and you keep recommending that we turn out attention to external affairs… even after what happened here today!"

"Oh yes," grunted the king, looking displeased. "I'd forgotten about that."

"Your Grace," Theos began, but Drake continued unrelentingly.

"No, Theos, sooner or later the rest would have turned on us too, even as that one did. As you're so interested in Mortred, however, I give you full permission to muck around in that business as much as you wish."

"Your Grace, this is idiocy! We must have the courage to look beyond our own borders! West Parmecia needs Thornwood."

Drake's eyes went flat, but the king said not a word. He merely gave Theos a heavy look, rose to his feet, and walked into a back room. Theos could hear his own appalled breathing. How could Drake be so foolish? How could he turn his back on every duty he had ever known like that?

Baron Vyrun said coldly, "It would seem that you're not wanted here, Theos. Perhaps you should leave, as His Grace commanded."

In something of a daze, Theos hobbled out of the Throne Room, not remotely aware of his infirmities for the first time in years. As he passed young Hiro, the knight's face revealed disbelief and outrage. Fortunately, he seemed to be wise enough not to voice his sentiments plainly. But even so, his mind lingered on Drake more and more as Theos had known him as a young man. The then prince had been so shunted aside… whatever he did one of his elder brothers had already done, and usually better. Poor lonely Drake, determined to come in from the cold…

The thought was nearly enough to break Theos's heart. "No," he murmured fiercely. "I will not let you do this, Drake. For your sake… have to hurry."

As Theos hobbled back towards his rooms, he finally understood. Castle Thornwood _had_ changed… and it was a reflection of the change in the king. The only question remaining, was why had the king changed, and so drastically? Yes, he understood the grief, the age-old fears, but what had brought them out at this point? Hadn't something else changed?

Humming absently, Theos continued his hobbling way into his inner chambers, not even noticing the ponderous weight of the door for once. He sat down, tapping his cheek as he tried to see his way through this muddle. In fact, he felt rather invigorated by the mental puzzle, but the sense of urgency that he felt robbed him of the joy of that same invigoration. He could not let King Drake wreck himself.

After a moment of thought, he turned to sift through some papers on his desk, and then he stopped short. Staring in shock, he saw that there, sitting folded neatly across some other papers was Baron Vyrun's document.

"Master?"

The soft voice coming from behind him nearly made Theos jump in alarm. He spun about, facing Grak. "What," he sputtered. "Where…"

His servant's face revealed concern. "I had thought that you might be Sir Tristain by the way you entered so briskly…"

It took Theos a moment to catch the implication, but only a moment. "Sir Tristain was here?" For the first time in years, he took no notice of the birdsong outside his window.

"Yes master," replied Grak. "He wished to speak with you most urgently and he seemed somewhat… excited. He also spoke of the book that you loaned him…"

"The book," said Theos sharply. He paused for a moment considering. Sir Mortred had asked specifically after that book the day before he had vanished, and then Tristain asking about the same thing… and then Tristain had stopped by in a state of considerable agitation? Theos didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit.

"Yes, master. Would you like to see the book?"

"Indeed," Theos murmured gravely, nodding his head just a little. "I should very much like to see the book."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Theos was not an impatient man by nature, but it seemed to him that after hours of laboriously pouring over Master Karth's _Lineage_, he should be somewhat nearer the truth than he had been when he'd started. The tome was just as dry and dusty as he had feared; Karth, it seemed, had had a penchant for being painstakingly precise and thorough. Essentially, Theos had 300 years worth of reading on every noble house in Thornwood, and there was nothing in any of it. Yawning, he glanced out of the window, only just taking in that it had grown dark outside. He really must have been at it for some good few hours now.

Still, he valiantly persisted in trying to stay awake. Mortred had asked after this very book before disappearing and Mortred simply had not been that kind of man. There had to be something in it… Sighing, Theos rubbed at his eyes, thumbing through the pages in a disheartened fashion, wishing that something would leap out at him.

With another sigh, he shifted in his chair to relieve some of the aching tension in his back. His eyes were drooping and his mind was tired, but he was too mentally invigorated to let a little thing like exhaustion stand in the way of discovery. Only maybe there wasn't anything to discover…

No, that was nonsense on his part speaking. Nonsense and defeat born of natural weariness. For the first time in years, Theos resented his age. When he had been a young man he had been strong enough to work diligently into the dark night, but now he was so weary, so tired… As a young man, he would have been strong enough to prevent King Drake from being unduly influenced by Baron Vyrun's extremist policies… but in his prime, Vyrun had only been a child.

Even as he struggled to find some clue to Mortred's disappearance, however, it was truly Drake that he grieved for. By the gods, how had he, Theos, been so blind? Why hadn't he seen what would, and now had, happen to his dear old friend? Against all likelihood and against the backdrop of a lonely childhood of being second in everything, Drake had risen to being king and he had pursued his duties vigorously with strength, dignity, conviction… But he who had been too often denied as a boy, he who had rarely felt the warmth that he craved from his family, he who had borne his burdens so patiently and well only to see the world fall apart around him, he who had seen his only son die of disease, surrounded by the best of healers… Was it any wonder that King Drake had let himself go in weakness and despair, tragedy and sorrow? Was it any wonder that his inner strength had collapsed in on him with Felix's death?

And yet for all of this, Theos could not reconcile Drake's willingness to turn to sheer evil. Isolationism was a bad enough idea in and of itself, but isolationism driven by suspicion and grounded in aggressiveness would only lead to evil. Within the decade fratricide, civil war, incest, casual murder… any of these things could become accepted as normality. Drake was too strong to do that, too good! And even aside from that, Thornwood was a unique case. It couldn't withdraw into itself. While King Drake's complaint about the lack of kingdoms in the west had some degree of veracity to it, in all the important ways, Thornwood's reign did extend all the way out there. With a lack of real power in the region and the always disturbing possibility that the violence of Grans would spill over onto the mainland, Thornwood filled a very real vacuum. If the stability of Thornwood was undermined to the extent that it closed its borders, West Parmecia would drown in blood. King Drake could not let that happen!

And yet, Theos could still feel those eyes on him, heavy and dead. He could still hear the king's sharply worded commands, ineffectual for all that. He could still see Drake turning away and into his backroom. He could still see the insecurity, the determination to adhere to absolute justice that had characterized Drake's reign…

_No,_ Theos thought, _no, my poor lonely friend, I cannot let you do this. I will not let you do this. _

It was this which spurred Theos on to keep trying. Even so, thoughts kept interrupting his attempts to scan the pages. His feeling that something had changed about Castle Thornwood, something that had become older, greyer… Well it had, hadn't it? And yet, these recent developments did not explain that melancholy feeling he'd had so much of. If only he could remember…

Baron Vyrun, he decided abruptly, could have nothing to do it. The Baron was a dangerous young man, but he had left that conversation in disgust before any particulars of the book had been gone into. And now Sir Tristain was gone when he had been in such a state of agitation… like Mortred was gone… couldn't be found… King Drake, understandable, but still… Vyrun was too curt… the birds… the birdsong was constant… children laughing… were there any children anymore… birds…

At that moment, Theos sat up in his chair in electrified alarm, a startled exclamation coming to his lips. It was such a simple little sign; he could hardly believe he hadn't seen it. But it had been at that curious stage where he had not been quite awake, as his eyelid had been drooping down, that he had suddenly noticed what was in his field of vision… A barely perceptible triangle of parchment protruding from the binding, about halfway between either ends of the spine.

Theos was looking at the clumsily left behind remains of at least one page that had been removed from the book. Doubt left his mind. The fact that the vandalism had occurred proved that there was indeed some sort of conspiracy here. Something important enough to kill for…

Sir Mortred _had_ been somewhat abstracted the last few days before his disappearance, and then he had asked for this book. Theos hadn't properly thought it through, before, but now he saw quite clearly that Mortred must have known something, or suspected, at any rate, and he had come to the book for some kind of corroboration. But what could he want with the lineage of ancient houses?

Peering excitedly at the text again, Theos realized that the perpetrator of the vandalism had been quite clever. There was no section on any noble house that was completely missing, and whatever pages had been removed hadn't only taken pertinent information, but had, apparently, taken trouble to make it seem as though there was nothing missing. The jump from the page that Theos was on to the next (the beginning of the section on house Wynderly) looked perfectly natural, marred only by the remaining scrap of the page.

And wasn't that odd, now that he chanced to think on it… Clearly a great deal of care had been taken in stealing the relevant pages. Perhaps the enemy had been in a hurry near the end.

The questions that truly interested Theos, however, were who and why. But he would have to work backwards from whatever Mortred had stumbled upon… With the relevant pages missing, what hope did Theos have of working his way backwards, to discover the truth that Mortred evidently had known and died for? He would have to rely on the little pieces of insight that he was receiving into this conspirator's mind. The careful removal of these pages and the toned back feel to the whole scheme was very clever, very subtle.

The old man sighed a bit disconsolately, snuggling up against the cushion in his chair. Well, one thing was settled. It was not Mephisto after all. There would have been nothing even remotely relating to that dangerous maniac in this book. No, this was an internal matter. Someone in the Castle…

It was the extremity of it that distressed Theos. Surely killing Mortred was too direct a method of handling him? Although, now that he chanced to think on it, even that part of the scheme was rather clever. There would be nothing to indicate that Mortred's disappearance was not a chance of misfortune within the Labyrinth were it not for this slight bit of paper that Theos had found.

But who could be behind it? Mortred must have known, or at least suspected, but Mortred was gone. Mayhaps he had murmured something of his suspicions to his son? Theos would have to make a point of following up on that possibility, discreetly of course. The conspirator had already proven that he held life very cheap. Tristain must know something of the truth too, for he had persisted investigating Mortred's disappearance, dissatisfied with the apparent explanation offered by the proximity of the Labyrinth. And now Sir Tristain could not be found…

A chill ran through Theos as an even worse possibility occurred to him. Sir Tristain had asked after Mortred, specifically brought Theos around to mentioning the book, could no longer be found… Was that all his way of making sure he had the leisure to remove the pertinent pages? No, it couldn't be. Not Tristain. Not in Thornwood. And then there was Baron Vyrun again.

Had Vyrun still been with them by the time Theos mentioned the book? He just could not recall. Baron Vyrun couldn't have anything to do with it… but the Baron did have a lot to gain. Yes, a lot to gain.

If only there was more time… the birds might know… Baron Vyrun and Sir Tristain… Mortred… the birds…

--

Theos came to his senses uncomfortably stiff and cold. He groaned slightly at the wet feel of his own drool, and glared at the blindingly bright light pouring in through his window. After a moment, the truth dawned on him. He must have drifted to sleep in his chair as his mind kept reviewing the possibilities. With another groan, Theos tried to rise to his feet, but he couldn't manage it.

Glaring around the room, he saw that Grak was busily working on what smelled like breakfast. The servant was dressed in disgusting frippery of a hideously orange color. "Grak," he complained peevishly, "that is the vilest color I've ever laid my eyes on."

"Yes, master," Grak said absently. "Would you like your breakfast now?"

"Don't patronize me, Grak!"

"Of course, master," he agreed in an inoffensive tone of voice. "Perhaps you'd prefer to take breakfast with the king?"

Theos groaned again, trying to think. His head felt hideously muddled. "No good comes out of sleeping in chairs," he muttered to himself. He'd have to try to remember that. But his duty to Thornwood superseded his comfort… Of course! Struggling to his feet, he gasped, "No time, no time. I need to speak to, ah, Sir Hiro. Find him."

"I'm sorry, master, but Sir Hiro left the Castle last night. I'm afraid there's no way I could bring him to you at the moment."

Theos's skin prickled uncomfortably. First Sir Mortred had disappeared and then Tristain… "Is there any word of Sir Tristain?"

"He has not returned since asking for you before, master." Grak pursed his lips disapprovingly. "I believe he said something about some business in the town. Now then, you really should eat something."

Theos threw his arms up in disgust and allowed Grak to mother him. It wasn't so much that Grak was a bad cook, he just wasn't a very good one and Theos had far too much on his mind this morning to be very interested in food. The porridge wasn't _too_ disgusting, however, so Theos supposed he had that much to be grateful for.

By the time the breakfast was over, Theos was itching to be up and about, hunting about for whatever he could discover. He had far too much on his mind to realize that for the first time in days, he wasn't thinking of the past or of his frailties. Halfway out of the door, he paused, realizing something incongruous. "Grak," he asked, "why exactly _are_ you wearing that hideous thing?"

The tall servant blinked. "There's the feast, this evening, master," he reminded Theos gently. "We must all of us be properly dressed."

"Oh. Yes. Quite." Hobbling out of the door, Theos muttered to himself, "Though if that color qualifies as 'properly dressed' then there's no fashion anymore."

In short order, Theos found himself accosted by one of Baron Vyrun's soldiers, Dai. That filled the old man with a vague sense of disquiet, which it took him a moment to properly identify. He hadn't truly realized it over the past several days, but the Castle was simply crawling with Baron Vyrun's swords…

Trying as best he could to quiet his suspicions, Theos reminded himself that the Baron had been ordered to investigate Mortred's disappearance. Of course he would bring in his men. The gelfling shouted, "Lord Theos! His Grace would like to see you."

"Oh, does he? Yes, I suppose that he does. Very well. We should probably be off, don't you think?" Dai blinked at him a few moments, and then turned, leading Theos off to the king's pavilion.

Theos sighed deeply. "The birdsong is so sad this morning, do you not think?"

"Ah… yes. Certainly." The slight quaver in Dai's voice spoke volumes, however.

_He thinks me old and senile. Well, perhaps I am. _

On a sudden impulse, Theos said, "You were friends with Prince Felix, weren't you?"

Dai looked startled. "I… yes. It was sad when he died. I miss him."

Theos lapsed into a worried, abstracted silence. For the first time since the Crown Prince's death, he was really remembering Felix as a person. He wouldn't have made a bad king necessarily, although he was, perhaps, a bit weak, a bit too eager to please. But it had been very strange, the way that he had died despite the healers that had surrounded him…

For the second time that morning, Theos felt his skin prickling. No, surely not, the thought alone was monstrous. And there would have been no reason to kill Felix, the business with Mortred had come nearly three years after… unless that had been what had originally woken Mortred's suspicions… and if near the end of his quest for knowledge, his guard had slipped a bit and he had been killed?

_No!_ Shaking slightly, Theos reminded himself that he had to resist stooping to sheer fancifulness. He was an old man after all, it was only natural that he'd want to reminisce, but this was going too far… Still that did bring up an important point. There was still a negotiable way to stop Baron Vyrun's polices from influencing King Drake too much, whilst Theos quietly investigated this other affair. The key was Princess Jessa. As long as she was quickly married off to another country, Thornwood would have to keep diplomatic relations open; King Drake loved his daughter too well to do anything less. And it would also be safest for Jessa to be out of the country, just in case there was anything in Felix's death. Not that there was. There simply couldn't be.

The only problem was that when Theos had mentioned such a possibility the other day, King Drake had flown into an unreasoning rage over it. But then again, Drake had been half-drunk at the time. Surely that was all. It had to be all.

Absently thanking Dai, he hobbled into the open pavilion, and there he found his king. Drake's face was still ravaged by the consequences of self-indulgence, but he looked a little less sullen, if just as tired. Theos decided that it was a hopeful sign.

"Theos," Drake mumbled, waving his drinking horn around. "There's to be a tourney today, did you know that? They couldn't find Tristain though…" for a moment a cloud hung over the king's face, but it passed quickly. "And the feast tonight," he added, casually stuffing his mouth with eggs from his plate.

Drake wasn't really ready to listen, Theos surmised sadly. He wanted to talk. And talk Drake did, but Theos didn't really listen. He sat there, feeling somewhat sad and lost as Drake mumbled inanities and freely drank the dark ale in front of him. "Theos…" Drake suddenly complained, "I'm the king. You might as well do me the courtesy of listening to me, once in a while."

Theos looked up and met the king's gaze for a long moment. He opened his mouth, although he wasn't quite certain what he would say. Drake suddenly blurted out, "I am sorry, Theos. Truly. For you, I mean. I am sorry." And then King Drake groaned, passing a heavy hand over his face. "Gods, Theos… how did we come to this? Look at what the world has done to us… You've seen what it does to _me_."

Startled Theos stared at the change that had just come over him. Though sunk in a bout of depression for the moment, _this _was the friend he'd known and loved, _this _was the king he'd been looking for. If Theos could find proof of what had happened to Mortred, this man would listen.

"Your Grace," he said tentatively, "about the Princess…"

"She's too young to be interested in getting married," Drake objected, irrationally.

"She's nearly nineteen, Your Grace," Theos reminded him. "And the only surviving blood to the throne. She must needs wed… and also, with things so dangerous here, might it not be prudent for the Princess to be sent away for a while?"

He heaved a silent sigh of relief at the second point he had made. It was evidently the master-stroke he had required. As he had started his argument, Drake was already opening his mouth to interrupt, but when Theos had thrown in the issue of her safety, the king's expression had become one of consternation.

Sensing that Drake was not quite ready to give in, Theos pressed forcefully, "This will be the best chance you ever have of expanding our realms to the west, if you create a blood relationship with one of our allies."

"Perhaps," muttered Drake. "It might be worth the trying…"

Vyrun's voice suddenly sounded from the opening of the pavilion. "A true king does not kneel," he said acidly.

Drake bristled. "I kneel to no one! Keep a civil tongue in your head, Vyrun."

"I am overjoyed to hear it," the Baron replied expressionlessly. "Now is the time to show West Parmecia strength, rather than weakness. They forfeited the rights to alliance with us by means of that disgusting attack, yesterday."

"No, Your Grace," gasped Theos. "You must not do this, it is unthinkable. Evil!"

"And what would you advise him to do, Theos?" Baron Vyrun's look and tone were decidedly cool. "Tell him how he _may_ hold half a kingdom by selling his daughter?"

"ENOUGH!" Drake lurched to his feet and flung his drinking horn at Vyrun. Though portly, the Baron dodged the oncoming missile well enough. "Enough," he repeated in a more moderate tone. "From both of you!"

_I am losing him,_ Theos thought in despair. "Please, Y"

"Out," bellowed the king. "Out with both of you! I've had enough of this! Thornwood will continue with its plans and there will be no changes to them! Now out!"

Theos bowed his head and hobbled out of the pavilion, consumed with a fresh wave of despair. He had come so close to reaching his old friend, but he had failed and Drake would continue this ruinous course. As he tried to hobble away, Baron Vyrun caught him up.

"You're really exciting yourself over very little, my dear Theos. Perhaps we should have a little talk together. You might appreciate some of the finer points of what I'm attempting to do here, you know."

Theos stopped, feeling rigid with indignation. Vyrun had no right to speak to him this way. The arrogance of it was infuriating. Theos was just as much a counselor to King Drake as the Baron, after all. "You," he snapped angrily, "are a populist rabble rouser and a bootlicker to boot! You're a liar, a craven, a bully, just as your lord father always feared you would be! He would be so disappointed in you."

Vyrun stood there for what seemed an eternity, and then his face twitched. Theos was struck in that moment by the presence that Vyrun possessed. Strong, overweight, balding, badly dressed, and, most absurdly of all, truly intimidating. When he finally spoke, however, the Baron's voice was as tightly controlled as ever. "I will tell you this once. You will never speak of my father again, and," he shoved Theos roughly aside, "you will stay out of my way, old man."

--

"It was outrageous," Hiro muttered sulkily.

Lupo arched a very thin brow at that pronouncement. "Oh really? Baron Vyrun was well within his rights, it seemed to me…"

"You weren't there," Hiro snapped.

"Only because Dai said that only one of us could go through, for security reasons. Given the fact that he had a sword, I was not inclined to argue the point."

Hiro ignored that, pressing his point with bitter urgency. "Vyrun had no right to speak to Lord Theos that way. That old man has done more for Thornwood than that idiot could ever hope to do. It was disgraceful the way he just brushed Theos off. I tell you, Lupo, things have changed."

At that moment, Milo came jogging over and collapsed next to the two knights, heaving great gasps of air. "Gods," he puffed, "I find myself impressed with you, Hiro. For all the seedy pursuits you've taken up… you're remarkably… fit."

Hiro eyed his friend askance. "Of course I am; you seem to forget that I am a knight. And 'seedy?'" He stopped off at that as another thought occurred to him. Though Milo appeared as finicky as ever, he was remarkably well-built and strong. "You're not really exhausted at all, are you?"

Milo chuckled, but his expression was pained. He sat up and stopped gasping for breath immediately. "No," he admitted candidly. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention the fact, however. It proves useful, from time to time."

Lupo murmured, "And imagine, from a priest no less. I thought that deceit was not to be practiced."

"Lupo," complained Hiro, "do you have to make a clever comment out of _everything_?"

The beastman shrugged, suddenly grinning. "Call it a character flaw, if you like."

Milo said with lively interest, "You know, I don't think that that last one really qualifies. As I recall, I once read the exact same thing in some book or other. The effort's not bad though."

Hiro silently groaned to himself as the two immediately engaged on a conversation that grew increasingly obscure, and all over whether or not Lupo had legitimately made a clever remark! It was ridiculous to large degrees of the word.

He looked up, idly, and there was Pyra, the last one to finish her laps, as per usual. Training wasn't always the most interesting way to spend time, but at least it was constant and could be used fairly often. Pyra dropped to the ground, gasping loudly. Hiro turned his gaze to the grass, intensely aware that this was probably the moment he could best utilize, but he shied away from the prospect. Besides the distinct difficulty of being rather inept at such things, he would prefer not to have Lupo and Milo as an audience.

"Milo," he said abruptly, cutting straight through some blather that Lupo was arguing, "whatever did you learn about Gila's body?"

The priest in-training's face immediately became serious. "He definitely put up a fight against whatever killed him. And there was… well, a sort of sense of darkness in the wounds. The Priest thinks he must have been killed by a sorcerer's spells." Milo was frowning though.

"But," suggested Hiro, "you don't agree with that assessment?"

"I'm sure that it's right… after a fashion at least. However, that doesn't explain the nature of the wounds. And those were definitely made before Gila was killed. I think he was killed by a sword imbued with darkness, if you want my honest opinion."

"Those things haven't been seen for centuries!"

"That was the Priest's objection as well, but it's consistent with the nature of the wounds, the manner of the death, and the magical residue in the body."

Hiro stood then, feeling all of his vague doubts resurfacing. His thoughts had turned completely away from the matters in the court; this had to do with Father. He was certain. "I think we'd better investigate this further ourselves."

Lupo looked at him questioningly. "Against the Baron's orders?"

Hiro shrugged. "He didn't say that we weren't authorized either. I never happened to bring it up."

"That's thin. Very thin."

"Hey," Pyra interjected, "I really, really hate to interrupt you boys when you've finally learned the rudiments of thinking, but, really, I'm feeling just slightly left out here. I don't think anyone of you has actually, like, acknowledged my presence here. That's kind of crushing to a girl's ego, you know?"

Milo chuckled and Lupo drawled out some witticism, but Hiro didn't really hear either one of them. He turned to look at Pyra, suddenly faced with the difficulty of having this before him. It wasn't really the right time to indulge in sentimentality, but Hiro didn't know quite how to avoid bringing it out into the open here. It was something that he needed to do…

"Pyra," he began, carefully, "this is, ah… well I think that I…" he floundered helplessly for a few moments before deciding to just take the simplest approach. "Well it seems to me that, I have, ah… well that is I've come to the regrettable conclusion that I'm hopelessly in love with you!" Having picked up speed with the second part of his declaration, he moved with a bit more confidence, now that the subject was inevitably embarked on. Stuttering slightly, he continued, "Now, I… ah, I assure you that, had it been my choice, I would have… ah, gladly… _foregone_ this regrettable necessity. That is, I would have chosen not to be in this… ah… distasteful position. However, resolved as I am to the fact that I am, indeed, irrationally attached, it seems best to me that I ah…" He gave up at that point. "So maybe we could achieve some equitable arrangement?"

There was a long silence which Pyra finally broke. "Wow," she said in a fairly nondescript tone.

"Not bad," Milo said, conversationally. "Not bad at all, Hiro. It certainly had a sort of rhythm to it that was very good. Awkwardly charming of course, but if you want to use that as a tactic, then I might suggest that you need some practice with it." He broke off for a moment, and then added in a gravely thoughtful tone of voice, "Pretty dreadful timing, though."

"Milo," snapped Pyra, "stuff a sock in it. That was absolutely adorable, and you're _analyzing_ it!"

Lupo yawned. "Well, I suppose it had to happen to him eventually, though I can't say much for his taste." The beastman paused abruptly, as if suddenly aware that he might have gone too far. "No offense intended, of course."

"None taken." Pyra smiled sweetly at him. "I don't overly concern myself with the aesthetic judgments of flea-ridden dogs."

Lupo winced. "I suppose that I deserved that one."

"Yes," she agreed with him. "You really did. Now then," she turned back to Hiro, a smug little smile touching her lips. "You make it really hard to say 'no,'" she informed him, "so why don't we say that I'll think about it?"

Hiro shrugged, attempting to regain his previous calmness of manner. "Well, I find that perfectly equitable. Splendid. With that little matter attended to, perhaps we should go and look into this matter of Gila's death. You agree?" He spread his hands out, looked to see any objections, saw none, and strode off at once.

Pyra's voice sounded behind him, "I hope he keeps that up. It actually is, really, really cute."

"You're cruel, Pyra," Milo accused her. "Can't you understand that that was the desperate act of a rational man attempting to resolve the fact that he has emotions? And now you're treating him as some sort of pet."

Hiro couldn't stop himself from snorting at that. Pyra's manner wasn't really that offensive, and Milo was just being pompous. He did have something of a point though. Hiro didn't really like the fact that he had this irrational attraction to Pyra, but there was no way to resolve that other than to go forward. For the rest of the walk, he managed to ignore the lot of them.

--

Hiro stopped short, abruptly, staring at a little alley that ran parallel to Old Vyk's. Lupo said slyly, "And I thought we were stopping at the bar _after_ getting a few questions answered."

Milo answered before Hiro had a chance. "No, Lupo, I saw it too. This is serious. There was a… cloaked, hooded man slipping down that alley."

"What? Nobody has covert business in this little village."

Hiro advanced towards the alley, his face set. "Exactly."

As he cautiously stepped into the shaded, narrow area, he caught another glimpse of the cloak, disappearing through a window. "Come on," he muttered, and he ran along quickly to the window. "Dammit," he muttered. "I'll need a boost to see what's going on."

Milo and Lupo silently came over, each taking one leg of his. As Hiro got his first glimpse of the room that the man had disappeared into, he reported, "It's Vyk's alright. His taproom."

He fell silent, as the figure reached a hand up inside his robe, jerking the hand slightly. Hiro frowned in puzzlement, but then the figure turned to Old Vyk who had come rushing through the door, and pushed his hood back.

Hiro fell backwards in shock, a startled curse coming to his lips. He crashed into the hard cobblestones with a muffled cry of pain. Milo strained to get up to the window himself, while Lupo grabbed Hiro by the shoulder. "What is it," demanded the beastman. "What in Rune is going on, here?"

Still slightly numbed by shock, Hiro said, "I think it's… I saw… it's Sir Tristain."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"That is definitely Sir Tristain," Milo reported at last. "He keeps tugging his moustache for one thing, and for another he"

"Milo," Hiro snapped irritably. "Nobody's questioning that it's Sir Tristain. We're all rather more concerned with the fact that it doesn't make any sense!"

"I don't see why not," Lupo rejoined. "He doesn't want to be seen or noticed. Whatever it is, it's Sir Tristain's business to decide if he wants to be covert about things. It's certainly not our business."

"Well that's a reversal. And utterly ridiculous, I might add. Of course it concerns us." Hiro folded his arms. "I told you Lupo, but you obviously weren't listening. Things have changed at the Castle." He shook his head, muttering in a small, disbelieving tone, "Lord Theos was far too powerless…" After another moment of outrage he looked up again. "All of these things are linked together… and they all started after Father disappeared. We _are_ looking into this" For effect, he glared at the beastman.

"This is serious, Hiro." The usual dryness of Lupo's voice was absent from his tone, but he nonetheless sounded rather pedantic. "I've gone along with you so far because you're my friend and these things have related to Sir Mortred, but this…" He waved a vague hand. "Sir Tristain may do as he wishes. Spying on him doesn't exactly seem the wisest course of action."

"I fail to see the difference between this and investigating Gila's death when the Baron wouldn't."

"You're both being kind of dumb," Pyra informed them. "We don't _have_ to do anything about this. You can always ask Sir Tristain why you saw him moving around the village covertly, Hiro."

Hiro hesitated at that, uncertain of how best to proceed. It was true that he could just ask the old knight, but… "No," he decided at last. "I don't like the idea of spying very much, but with everything going on the way it is, that's probably the wisest course." He shrugged unhappily. "And anyway, the moment we learn that this doesn't relate in any way to Father, of course we'll break it off."

"Naturally," murmured Lupo, his voice as dry as ever.

Hiro frowned in perplexed exasperation, absently studying the darkening sky and the bruise like clouds. It would probably rain before long. Finally he said, "Milo, I want you to go into the tavern, mingle a bit, if you can. We might as well try to cover all of our options here."

The hefty young priest nodded briefly and padded off down the alley. Hiro nervously rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. Part of him felt… silly, even foolish for ordering this. All the same though, some very strange things were going on in Thornwood these days, and they had started when his father had disappeared. Given that, Hiro felt at least somewhat justified in his actions.

Pyra bit her lip, studying him. "Why are you doing this, Hiro?"

The question startled him out of his introspective reverie. Not meeting her eyes, he said, "I don't… I don't entirely know. But it's just that… My father didn't like Baron Vyrun," he concluded lamely.

Her forehead puckered in puzzlement. "What does…?" She broke off with a noise that Hiro could only call disbelief. "Hiro…" she bit her lip again. "It wasn't your fault."

"What?"

"It wasn't your fault," she repeated, earnestly. "You feel guilty that your father disappeared, don't you? And now that Baron Vyrun suddenly seems to be commanding the court, you think you failed him."

"That's just what doesn't make any sense!" Hiro burst out. "I've been over this again and again. Father wouldn't just _go_ to the Labyrinth and get himself killed. He wouldn't go anywhere near that place without it being absolutely necessary. Dad… dad loved Lord Theos, he trusted and respected him and Lord Theos was always most emphatic about the dangers of the Labyrinth. And even more, with all of this happening… Well if Baron Vyrun had had some hand in this, I could at least understand that, he has a lot to gain. Without Father out of the way, he's that much closer to the king, but now Sir Tristain's here and I don't understand…" His voice trailed off, and he realized suddenly that it had started raining after all. A very heavy rain too, but he didn't really care about that.

"Are you… well is the rain bothering you?" he asked awkwardly. "If it is, I suppose I could…"

Pyra's eyes were fixed intently on him, and there was something in her expression that he hadn't seen there before. "No," she said very softly. "The rain doesn't bother me."

Hiro groaned slightly, running his fingers through his dripping hair. "I should have paid more attention… I remember there, for a while Father was coming back late, in terse moods… He was looking into something, Pyra!" For the first time the grief that he'd mostly managed to ignore came close to pouring all out at once. "And I should have been paying attention, if I had I might have been able to help him or stop this from happening… or even just to continue, but I don't know! I just don't know anymore, I was certain that Baron Vyrun… but now with Sir Tristain here, and I just can't work it out… and… and…"

"Hey," said Pyra stepping up to him. "Hey, you're a good guy, alright?" She patted his shoulder affectionately, her lively face sympathetic and… well Hiro wasn't quite certain what else there was in her expression. "Don't beat yourself up about it. You're here now and you are working it out. You'll get there, Hiro."

Hiro struggled to control the blood rushing through his head as he realized just how close she had come to him. _Dammit_, he thought irritably, _Milo was right after all. This was terrible timing._

"Thanks," he managed weakly, but his eyes were drawn into hers, drowning there… "Pyra," he said weakly, wishing that he could just postpone the moment. She looked so soft at this moment though, so… so entreating. Against his will, Hiro felt himself leaning forward slightly and he could see that she was responding as well…

"If you children don't mind, we're supposed to be watching for Sir Tristain," Lupo said sarcastically.

Hiro flushed at the sudden interruption, both absurdly angry and grateful. "I… ah, yes," he stuttered, turning his still burning face to the side. He heard a soft puff of breath from Pyra, but still lacking the courage to continue along that line, he instead turned his attention back to Lupo, considering things rapidly.

Thinking aloud he mused, "If Milo's to be effective, then at least one of us will have to be somewhere out on the main street. I'll do that, I suppose." He started off, then stopped long enough to throw over his shoulder, "Lupo, work something out back here and… er, Pyra, somewhere in the middle, I guess."

He hurried off without further ado and after about a minute of searching, found a partially concealed spot just across from the tavern. Frowning in distaste at the menial filth that coated the cobblestones, the young knight crouched down, ready to watch and wait. The rain continued its relentless downpour, and once or twice Hiro heard the ominous rumble of thunder. It was very nearly completely dark out by now.

Try as he might though, his mind kept wandering back to his other troubles. At first he tried to fight it and was moderately successful, although it helped, of course, when someone bothered to come out of the tavern and there was actually something for him to watch.

After Gatt stumbled drunkenly from the tavern, however, Hiro gave up and allowed himself to consider the difficulties that Pyra presented as practically as possible. It really was an unfortunate situation, and his little outburst earlier in the afternoon hadn't really helped things. Of course, he had felt that he needed to move past the situation and that the best way of doing that was, naturally, just to get on with it, but now there were all kinds of potentially troubling complications inherent in that whole business.

He was very fond of Pyra of course… and though he didn't really think it would be accurate to use the word 'love'—what was love, after all?—he really couldn't come up with another term that wasn't even more inaccurate or insulting, so he gave in insofar as that was concerned. And yet, charming though the idea of some sort of liaison was, there was no practical purpose that such an arrangement could really accrue for him.

It was an extremely worrisome situation and it had fallen just into this juncture where he needed all of his wits about him. Very unfortunate, but that, evidently, could no longer be helped. He had seen now, should Pyra choose to put the moves on him again, he didn't really have the will to resist her. A pity, that, but it could potentially make his life more interesting, so he wouldn't discount the possibility of being able to spin some sort of advantage out of the whole thing.

Hiro was never quite certain what alerted him to the brewing danger, but he noticed it certainly. Had he not been so preoccupied he might have put the pieces together a bit sooner, but there was Gatt again, passing in the opposite direction…?

A harsh yell and the sound of crashing metal echoed from the little alley and Hiro was up, sprinting towards the direction, barely even processing that Gatt had also suddenly run down in that direction.

Horror greeted him. There were maybe five cloaked figures with drawn blades of varying lengths, and, struggling on the ground with one leg twisted horribly and his sword drawn, was Sir Tristain himself.

"Lupo," roared Hiro tearing his blade free from its sheath as he jumped forward to engage the enemies. Two of the figures turned to meet his charge, but Lupo wasn't at his side. Hiro could hear the beastman's voice quite clearly however.

"I… think not." Out of the corner of his eye, Hiro could make out the familiar figure sprinting in the other direction. "I'll be back with help," shouted the beastman.

"Lupo," howled Hiro angrily, but he had no more time for words, being immediately engaged by his enemies. As his first attack scraped ineffectually across one of the men's swords, Hiro realized that he'd negated his momentary advantage of surprise by waiting for his beastman compatriot. These men were stone-cold killers too, that much Hiro could read just in their body language.

At that moment he heard a shrieking voice and a tremendous burst of lightning tore from the side into his two opponents. One of the men was ripped apart from the immense power and the other went spinning to the ground. As the light flashed in Hiro's eyes and deafened his senses for a moment, he somehow caught the sight of a third man, one of the ones hemming in Sir Tristain, also being taken down from the blow.

"Pyra," he said, joyfully turning to face where the mage must have been, but, as he did that, another figured hurtled past him, blade upraised to strike her. Hiro's blood froze in his veins as his vision took in Pyra more than her assailant. His elven friend was clearly staggered by the amount of energy she had just released and wouldn't be able to defend herself…

With another cry of anger, Hiro flung himself forward catching Pyra's attacker by the arm, swinging his sword in at this enemy's back… Even as he struck, he could see that the attacker, though off-balance, clipped Pyra's shoulder with his blade, and then something hard crashed into Hiro's face, sending him tumbling down.

As he did so, he automatically lashed out with his foot and he heard a grunt from behind. On his hands and knees, Hiro, weakly rolled himself over and fumbled weakly in front of him. "Pyra?" He couldn't see at all, hair and rain and blood clouded his vision. Pushing his hair out of his face disgustedly, Hiro realized that the blood was running from a wound on the side of his head.

He felt another body as he fumbled again, and started to say in relief, "Pyr…" he broke off, making noises of inarticulate horror at the dead face of Pyra's assailant. Gatt.

With a howl, he scrambled forward, barely aware of another harsh cry ringing out from behind him. As he did so, he stumbled over another person lying there. "Pyra," he choked out, but he could manage no more. She slowly swelled in the line of his vision till she was nearly the size of a giant.

Hiro's eyes slowly followed the dreadful streaking wound stretching from her right shoulder down to her left hip. "I killed him," Hiro whispered numbly, squeezing her hand now. "I killed Gatt, Pyra. I did."

As he just sat there, staring at her, a heavy hand abruptly clapped itself down over his shoulder. "Hiro!" It was Milo's voice. "I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner…"

As if from a great distance, Hiro heard Sir Tristain's voice. "Damn this useless leg. They surprised me and… I owe my life to both of you gentlemen. If young Hiro hadn't gotten here right away, and then you, Milo Brax, to save us both…" The old knight groaned, "Oh, _damn_ this leg. Should've known. Should've known, they'd try to kill me. Should've known he would figure it out…"

Hiro didn't really attach any importance to the words. Nothing seemed to be touching him except the perfect mirroring of Pyra's dead face and Gatt's.

Milo said urgently, "Come on, Hiro, I can't do this without you! We've got to get Sir Tristain some proper treatment. If an infection sets in… I can't carry him myself, Hiro."

"I killed him, Milo," said Hiro weakly. That was all that was left; all that mattered He shaded his eyes as he continued wistfully absorbing Pyra's every feature. "I killed him."

--

Theos hobbled around his little room, fists clenched, partly in rage, but mostly in the realization of his own powerlessness. That had been the real shock, once the truth had sunk in. He simply didn't matter anymore. Years as an important royal advisor had bred a certain arrogance into him, he supposed, and that had left him ill-coped to handle having no real power. As long as Baron Vyrun was there…

The depression settled all the more firmly into his aching old bones and his hundreds of regrets. He had nearly reached King Drake, but the Baron had brushed him aside and Drake would ruin Thornwood. Worse than that, Drake would wreck himself in doing it. The grief would completely incapacitate him.

And still, still, Theos was no closer to solving the mystery of Mortred's disappearance. All he knew for certain was that something had happened, but nothing else.

With a sudden violent gesture, Theos threw his hands up and then smashed them down on his desk. A sweeping arm overturned the statuette that he used for a seal. The solution to these problems was right before him, he just didn't want to see it.

Regardless of Mortred's disappearance, King Drake had to be prevented from this folly. He had to be made to see reason, to be pulled up away from the abyss. And that meant that Baron Vyrun would have to go. Was that what the world would make of him? A murderer?

All his life, Theos had been an honest, upright man. To kill a foe in battle was one thing, but this… regardless of the reasons, it _would_ be murder. But if murder it must be, then let it be on his own soul. "Yes," muttered the old man fiercely. "Yes, I will do it. My poor lonely friend… I'll save you."

Pacing about uncomfortably, Theos finally sank into his chair, burying his face in his hands. It would be so easy. Poison would do it. It was just that… gods, his own morals were gone. But Theos would not permit Baron Vyrun to continue on his path. The pudgy young man had doomed himself. "I am not afraid to do it," Theos whispered. "I will do it," he promised himself.

It would be a simple thing really. All he had to do was to become a murderer. Not that hard. He could do it. He knew he could. He just had to be willing to kill in cold blood. To murder.

Harsh as it sounded in such a light, Theos knew that it was necessary. It was, wasn't it? Baron Vyrun had to die, and if he had to die, best that the burden fall on Theos's soul. He would not let the Baron's ambition destroy his poor lonely friend…

The only thing left was reconciling himself with utterly betraying his own principles. Theos knew how to kill; all he had to do was to utilize that knowledge. In a frenzy of activity, he flung himself upright again, pacing around endlessly, considering the matter of Sir Mortred. If he could find a better way…

In the end, however, Theos simply didn't know. He didn't know what Sir Mortred had known. He didn't even know if Sir Mortred had known anything. Perhaps the supreme knight of Thornwood had merely suspected and had come a little too close to whatever secret was being kept… Perhaps that was why Sir Tristain had been unwilling to let the matter drop, perhaps it was his secret and he was making certain that there were no loose ends. Or perhaps Sir Tristain was dissatisfied with the manner of his old friend's disappearance and was genuinely investigating.

It _had_ to be something in the book. That had merely been logical before; now that Theos had discovered the missing pages he was certain. Sir Mortred had died for whatever was in there. But what could it possibly be? Theos had absolutely no idea which vital pages had gone missing, and as far as whatever Sir Mortred had known or suspected… Theos had picked up the trail from the opposite end. He'd come as far as he could.

If only he could ascertain a motive that Baron Vyrun might have had in such an affair! To be sure, the Baron would have a motive in the casual murder of Sir Mortred; it would have been an excellent way to secure real influence after all. But all of the circumstances here suggested that the stakes were much higher than that. No, it could not be the Baron, and that meant that it had to be Sir Tristain. The old knight hadn't risked much in pretending to look into the affair, after all… except, why then come to Theos with the book, even if he had only spoken to Grak?

_Grak… _Now there was a nasty suspicion. How much did his personal servant truly know? Could he have been the one who stole Baron Vyrun's paper before putting it back? Had Sir Tristain seen him at all?

But that was utter nonsense! Grak could have absolutely no motive. No, it was clear, Theos's mind was wandering. But if it could not be the Baron and it made no sense for it to be Sir Tristain, who then was left? Theos was missing something important, and if he only knew what it was, everything might still hang together…

Admittedly, it could still be the Baron. He was the scion of an ancient house after all, and that _did_ have to do with the book's source material, but what then could Vyrun have feared? And why vandalize the book only _after_ Sir Tristain had seen it? Why even take the chance that it would re-surface at all? Why play games with his own infernally blasted document? Why set up that incredibly clumsy scene in the wake of the assassin's attack? No, there were too many things that just didn't fit for the Baron to be the perpetrator…

And that left Theos where he had been at the start of this whole meandering muddle. With the obvious gaps in his knowledge and no ready way to fill them in, he couldn't do anything more in the line of this investigation. Not with Sir Hiro gone from the Castle… His skin prickled at the thought. Forcibly shaking the suspicion off, he rose ponderously and hobbled over to a tall cabinet, sifting through its contents.

For poison, Theos had many options, but only one that made sense given the current circumstances was alsthat. For a moment or so Theos studied the small crystal dispassionately before slipping it into his pocket. Easy to use unseen and it killed very quickly.

Baron Vyrun would probably not be supposed to have died naturally and another investigation might very well start. But if this course would save Thornwood and keep Drake from destroying himself…

_Gods help me, it may be the worst thing I've ever done, but I will do it. I will._

With a groan, Theos sank back into his favored chair. The feast was still some several hours off, and he would need to be alert.

--

The room was pitch-black and stuffy as the old man awoke. Shaking his head in a futile attempt to clear it, he muttered, "Slept too heavily." Blinking owlishly it dawned on Theos that it was already dark outside. Straining his already poor eye-sight to adjust to the lack of light, he realized that something else was amiss.

"Grak?"

There was no answer. Fumbling helplessly for a moment or so, Theos hobbled to the door, opening it out into the dimly lit stairwell. "Grak?" Still, nothing. Theos looked back out the window. By now, the feast had surely started… "I wasn't woken," he said in numb disbelief. "Grak didn't wake me."

"I should have been woken," he muttered to himself, hurrying through the halls with all the speed he could put into his aching, bent old back. Images of Drake's face swam before his eyes, images of the past, the good days before his poor lonely friend had turned to the unthinkable to try and prove himself.

"Hurry," murmured Theos. He had to hurry or it might be too late for Drake. What if the Baron convinced him to rule on the isolationist proposal this very evening? The old man's hands sunk into his pocket, toying with the crystal of alsthat that was still there.

As far as poisons went, alsthat was moderately difficult to obtain. Colorless, odorless, and it would melt in any kind of liquid…

Theos managed the last span of the walk with something resembling dignity, pushing his way in through the doors, hobbling forward to his customary place, mouthing apologies for the lateness of his arrival when he stopped short.

"I… Your Grace… where is my… I have nowhere to sit," he concluded, lamely, still staring at the high dais at which he had sat many a year with King Drake, Prince Felix, Sir Mortred, Sir Tristain, Princess Jessa, and, more recently, Baron Vyrun.

King Drake's face was flushed, but his eyes were still alert and his speech was only slightly slurred. "Heh. Don't require… your presence, Theos. Don't need to be here you know. Books! That's what you like to do with pieces of your… time, isn't it?" He coughed and signaled a serving man to refill his wine glass. "No longer, required," he mumbled.

Theos could only stare. Princess Jessa leant across the table, fixing her piercing gaze on him. "What my father means to say is that he no longer requires your service nor your counsel. Should you choose, of course, there's no objection to your staying at the feast on anybody's part."

Something in the sharpness of her tone troubled Theos. Why was the princess so belligerent to him, personally? There had been something personal in the way she'd said that, "Your Highness…" he floundered helplessly for a moment, until some chance of memory informed him exactly what this was about. The marriage proposal of course… but what garbled interpretation of Theos's suggestion had the princess gotten from her father? Or, gods be good, even worse, from Baron Vyrun?

The realization stirred a black sorrow within him. The princess dared judge him for making a perfectly reasonable suggestion given the reduced circumstances of the royal family, and yet she ran around in low-cut gowns, perfect, lovely, and vain.

There was a slight stirring at the table and Theos was confusedly looking at Leonard. The grave-faced minister was meeting his eyes, though, and his face was full of pity. "You may sit here if you wish," he said, gesturing to the chair he'd just vacated.

"Hold." Theos knew that voice without even looking at the speaker. He doubted he'd ever be able to rid himself of the memory of Baron Vyrun's voice. "If Lord Theos prefers to stand, perhaps he'd like to grace us with… a song. Or a dance, mayhaps." The Baron's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. It was then that Theos noted a rolled up paper at the Baron's side, and he knew, instinctively, that it must have been that same paper that the Baron had foisted onto him, and probably signed as well. But how…?

_Grak_, he realized.

"Yes," said Princess Jessa, daintily sticking her fork into her mouth and chewing. "A dance, old man." She waved an imperious hand at him.

King Drake hesitated for a moment, and finally turned his attention back to his wine-glass.

_Not cruel_, Theos thought desperately. _Never cruel… you weren't. My poor lonely friend…_

Caring not a whit about this humiliation, Theos awkwardly shuffled about, hoping that it would be enough to satisfy the Baron. Then, Theos crashed hard into a passing server and went tumbling to the ground, covered in wine from a broken flagon.

He could hear the Baron chuckling slightly, and that was when yet another realization hit him. Sir Tristain was not there… Sir Tristain was not there! "No," whispered Theos. There was no way he'd be able to do it now… A flash of orange appeared to his right, and there was Grak, helping him up. Grak's narrow eyes filled with malice…

He stumbled forward out of his servant's grasp, ignoring the whisper behind, "Master… what are you… let me help you."

Clutching the edge of the table, he gasped, "A drink. Baron Vyrun, a drink to my… support for your proposal."

At that, the Baron studied him, his black eyes revealing nothing. "There are other ways, Lord Theos," he said at last. "There is no need for"

"A drink," Theos insisted.

Baron Vyrun shrugged. "As you say." He snapped his fingers and a serving man came over, filling the Baron's glass to the rim. Theos quickly took the glass from the table, slipping the crystal into the wine as he did so, hoping that his arm would keep the action from sight.

He lifted the glass to his lips, aware that he would have approximately fifteen seconds before the effect of the poison would set in. It might be the worst thing that he had ever done, but for Drake's sake…

He drank deep of the wine, before fully registering the slight bitter taste to it. _No!_ But it was too late. Theos fell to the ground again, gurgling helplessly as the glass fell from his hand, spilling the wine. That wine had already been laced with phalot, a poison even deadlier than alsthat and with the two thrown together…

_But how? Why? _

Gurgling hopelessly, Theos could feel the iron closing around his throat, even as his eyes were drawn inexorably to the Baron's. Those cold black eyes… Strangely enough, in his very last moments, Theos's thoughts turned again back to Drake. Back to the old days when he had been so strong.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

Chapter 5:

Epilogue

Hiro stared mutely at the highly polished floor. It was due to Milo that he was here at all. Ever since the attack, he hadn't been able to feel anything. He still didn't, he just… existed.

The king seemed nearly comatose, but then Hiro heard him mutter, "Never meant for him to die. Didn't want him at that feast… but to die… never meant that."

For the first time since the incident, Hiro felt some spark of interest stir in him, and he raised his head to gaze at his liege lord. King Drake looked shockingly bad; exhausted, run-down, flushed, drunken, weak… and old. He looked old, most of all.

"Oh, what is it?" The king's voice was barely audible. "Send them away… my head hurts. Oh gods, yes, he'd angered me, given me bad counsel, but still… to _die_…"

Milo took a firm step forward, all of the raw power in his bearing intensely focused. "Your Grace, I would not trouble you were it not a matter of some import. As it happens, a very serious affair has been purposely overlooked and I am attempting to rectify this mistake."

Baron Vyrun, who had also been present all the while, leant forward from his chair, saying, "Steps are already being taken, of course, to prevent any future drunken brawling in the streets. It was very regrettable."

One of Milo's black, expressive, eye-brows rose fractionally. "Drunken braw… ah." From his tone of voice, it was clear that something had just occurred to him. His face smoothed as he replied, "I take it that this matter, has… already been brought to the crown's attention." There was slightly suggestive note in his voice, and Baron Vyrun suddenly looked alert. It was clear that there was some important understanding passing between the two of them, but Hiro couldn't seem to find it in himself to care. Milo's heavy face had become expressionless, his tone soft and dangerous. "And this is what passes for justice in Thornwood?"

Baron Vyrun scowled, to himself, seemingly, and then said, "Temporary measures are being taken to insure that no other such tragedies shall occur. At the moment," his gaze slid to Hiro and then back to Milo, "the throne is considering brief confinement to be desirable insofar as the eventual outcome is concerned. And yes, Sir Lupo was good enough to let us know that the regrettable incident had indeed occurred."

"Ah," said Milo in a tone, light and bantering. "I see. Very interesting. Very gratifying to know."

"And how is my old friend, the priest?" The Baron's tone was carefully exaggerated.

"As he is so often, my dear Baron. His soul is in another, more spiritual realm entirely." Milo paused momentarily, scratching his cheek. "He's keeping a vigil on Sir Tristain. Sir Tristain's hip is broken, and it appears that some fever has set in, but we're all very confident that this is only a… temporary measure." He bowed, rather floridly. "Thank you for your time."

The priest in training turned and strolled nonchalantly out the door, and Hiro followed him mutely. After turning down a few corridors, Milo suddenly stopped, and turned to Hiro, a rueful grin on his face. "Well, now that all the prices have been set… The Baron has very good nerve, I'll grant him that." Milo studied Hiro for a few moments, his grin slowly fading. "Still, I suppose this is all for the best."

--

Dirt crunched beneath Mephisto's heel as he ground to an impatient halt, stroking his chin. The message had come through this morning, and so Mephisto knew that he had won. Still, things had a curious way of turning sometimes and… truth to tell, the victory didn't matter to him as much as he had thought it would.

Crouching down, Mephisto drank deep from his water-skin. Thornwood had been the logical place to start; he knew the kingdom, he had known it for slightly over 100 years. But it hadn't meant as much to him to triumph over King Drake as it would have meant had he out-thought dead King James.

Thornwood was now in the palm of his hand, in a subtle, unseen way. None knew that he, in truth, was behind the eventual rise of a new dynasty. All he had to do was to close his fist.

This made him better than his mother who could only use open war to achieve her aims, better than Warderer, better than anybody. He had succeeded at what he wanted. Thornwood was his… so long as he closed his fist.

Slowly Mephisto rose to his feet, his gaze drawn to his silent traveling companion. He hadn't bothered himself over the reason that his friend had wanted Sir Mortred out of the way, he had merely recognized such as the price of success. Now he wondered. Perhaps someday he would ask Baron Vyrun what he had feared from Thornwood's premier knight. Well, Mephisto's aid would be a two-edged sword.

Mephisto would move on to other conquests, but he would keep his hand wrapped around the heart of Thornwood. And to insure that there were no treacheries, Sir Mortred the Sleeping Sword would be returned to court. And in the meantime… The world was open before him, ripe with possibilities.

Nonetheless, there were just two questions that nagged at Mephisto as he watched Sir Mortred march off in the direction of Thornwood Castle. Why didn't this victory taste half so sweet as it should? And why now, of all times, did his thoughts turn to his mother?


End file.
